Tiny Tim
by Harthad
Summary: A series of short stories including Crutchie, age six. Many other newsies appear!
1. Crutchie

"But where're we goin'?"

Jack Kelly, age eight, was pulling a kid along with him through the streets of New York. Their faces were smeared with soot, as Jack and the boy had just come from a building that Jack had accidentally set on fire. He hadn't meant to! That grown-up there had been holding a match, and had accidentally dropped it into some…well, stuff that had made the building go boom. So maybe it wasn't Jack's fault after all. He cast a glance at the little sandy-haired and green-eyed kid he was dragging along with him.

"We's goin' to the Newsboy's Lodgin' House," Jack answered. "You'll be safe there."

The kid put a hand to his mouth as he coughed, and struggled to keep up with the older boy. "What did you say your name was?"

"Jack." He looked down at the boy again. "Why d'you keep draggin' your leg along like that?"

The boy coughed again. "Mistah Jordan said it got dead, so I can't use it anymore. He said I 'ave somethin' called….polio."

Oh, Jack thought. He had seen plenty of kids and newsies on the streets like this kid, using crutches or something to walk along. He hoped this boy would be alright. Jack glanced behind him, seeing someone making their way towards the pair. He scooped up the boy in his arms, and started running as fast as he could.

"Why's we runnin'?" the boy asked.

"That's Snyder, he wants my guts," Jack decided to keep it short for the time being. "We jus' need to get to the Lodgin' House an' then we'll be safe, okay?"

"Okay," the boy said, and the pair rounded a corner onto Duane Street. Jack risked looking behind him. No sign of Snyder. Good. He slowed down, and the two practically jumped inside the Lodging House. Jack closed the door behind them.

"Who's this?" Kloppman asked, looking down at the boy, who looked right back up with wide eyes.

"I dunno," Jack said, and looked to the boy, and back at Kloppman. "He said he has polio. He can't use his right leg anymore. Can he please stay?"

Kloppman straightened up, and walked into one of the back rooms. He came back with a small crutch, which was more or less the boy's size. The boy took it, looking at the wood. He glanced up at Kloppman, who nodded.

"You can lean on that, boy. It'll help you walk."

The boy smiled, lighting up his part of the room. He slid the crutch under his arm, and took a few experimental steps, still smiling.

"What's your name, kid?" Jack asked. The boy gave him an uncertain look and was about to shake his head when he stopped and looked at his brand-new crutch.

"Crutch…" the boy said, trying out the word. He brightened up. "Crutchie! That's my name! Crutchie!"

Jack smiled too. "Okay, Crutchie. Tomorrow, I'll teach yous 'ow to be a newsie. We sell the papes all around the city."

"Is you the best newsie, Jack?"

Jack was taken aback, and then he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I am, kid."


	2. Wags

Crutchie frantically tried to pin all his papers down as he stood on possibly the windiest street corner in New York. It was his first day selling papers _alone_, and he wanted to do something to impress Jack. He really wasn't supposed to be out here alone, but he'd given Jack the slip and went off to explore by himself. Except for what Mr. Jordan had told him, Crutchie had never seen much of the city. That, and he had been bed-ridden for as long as he could remember. Crutchie looked up at the grey sky, wondering if it would rain. He hoped not. A rustle from behind made him turn around, trying to see what made that noise. His papers escaped his grasp, and he whirled his arms around, catching a few but not many. Crutchie sighed, frusterated, and leaned over farther to try and get more. He took one wrong step too many, and with an 'Oof!" he fell flat on his butt. Crutchie sat up, shaking his head. The papers made a desperate bid for freedom, flying farther and farther away from the boy. So much for trying to sell more than Jack.

He looked to the side as the rustling noise came again. A box shook slightly, abandoned by some person by the post. Crutchie got up carefully, taking back his crutch from the hard road. He advanced slowly, curiosity filling him as the box shook even more. What was in there? He peered over the top, and bent down to open the flaps.

Crutchie was knocked back again head over heels by a furry animal, which had jumped at him. The dog, with wide brown eyes and a slobbering face started licking Crutchie's face, making his hat fall off and his hair stick straight up on end. The boy giggled as the dog kept thwarting his every attempt to stand back up. Crutchie finally managed and the dog calmed down, sitting by Crutchie's feet. Crutchie bent down to pat the dog on the head, and tentatively petted his golden fur. The dog wagged his tail, enjoying the love. Crutchie straightened up, smiling. Maybe he hadn't sold all his papers, but he had managed to find a puppy.

"I'll call you…." Crutchie paused, unsure. He looked down at the excited dog, who kept shaking his tail back and forth. "Wags!" Crutchie laughed. "That's your name, ain't it, boy?"

Wags barked, even happier, and Crutchie grinned back in response. He started walking back to the Lodging House, glancing over his shoulder to see Wags following him. The dog's tongue hung out of his mouth. Crutchie turned his attention back to where he was going, remembering what Jack had told him to get back to the Lodging House. He rounded a corner, and looked back over his shoulder.

Crutchie stopped. Wags wasn't there. He tried to whistle, but gave up after the first try or so.

"Wags?" he called forlornly, disappointed that his new friend had left him after only a couple of blocks. Crutchie sighed, and continued on his way. He didn't know New York enough to go searching, yet. Maybe he could ask Jack later.

The boy plodded on, almost to the Lodging House. Jack had said it was just around the next bend or so, right? Or did he have to cross the street? Crutchie was distracted from his reasoning as a golden dog trotted out from next to him, holding something in his mouth.

"Wags!" Crutchie exclaimed delightedly, and bent down to pat the puppy's head. "You knew jus' where to find me, didn't you?"

Wags shook his tail happily, and Crutchie took the bundle from his mouth. It was his hat! Crutchie looked back over his shoulder. He had left it where he had fallen, he supposed. And now Wags had brought it back to him.

Crutchie grinned, securing the hat safely back on his head, and started limping on again, this time with Wags at his side. Boy and dog looked at each other, both happy at finding one another.

"You're a good dog," Crutchie said, bending down once more to scratch his new friend on the head. "Now come on, let's see Jack and ask Mistah Kloppman if you can stay."


	3. Santa Fe

Coughs were more frequent in the Lodging House this month. A sour cloud drifted over the newsies from dawn to dusk as they worried about their newest arrival. Jack in particular. He could hardly stand going out to sell newspapers when one of the first people he saw in the morning was his little friend, Crutchie, wrapped up in almost every single blanket the newsies could fine, sitting up on the couch and drinking water in between coughs.

"Take me with you, Jack!" he would beg. Jack would shake his head regretfully.

"Not today, kid." He always said that. "When you get better, I promise."

Crutchie would give him the big, pleading green eyes under the too-large-for-him plaid hat that one of the other boys had found for him. Jack would only sigh again, shake his head once more, and head out the door.

He would run back in at the end of the day, quickly unlacing his boots and running over to the couch where Crutchie was maybe still sitting up and having a bite to eat, or sleeping with a sickly pale face and sharp breaths. Jack would sit by him, wishing there was something he could do to help him feel better.

One night, he had an idea.

Jack had been feeling very put out that day, earning nothing more than about fifty cents. He plodded through the evening rain, his head filled with thoughts about the bright painting he had seen in a window by Miss Medda's theatre. He had squinted after staring at the brilliant bright reds, oranges, greens and yellows of the sandy scene, reading the caption that read 'SANTA FE'. Jack carried that image in his head all the way back to where he saw his little friend once again.

Crutchie coughed slightly.

"Hey," Jack started. "I was thinkin'…I saw this paintin' today. In a store window. An' it was really…beautiful! It said it was a picture of this place called Santa Fe, which is somewhere out west. It was all green and there was no city anywhere! The sky was orange and red and yellow, and there was this great big river running through it all. I bet that if I ever go there, I could do anythin'. So that got me thinkin', Crutchie…if we goes there together, _we_ could do anythin'! You could run, and walk, and never get sick anymore, jus' because we'd be there! Away from this place. Away from New York."

Crutchie had opened his big eyes to look at Jack. "I wanna stay here," he said quietly, and Jack jumped slightly.

"What?"

"I wanna stay here 'cause yous here," Crutchie said a bit more firmly, and started to close his eyes to go back to sleep. "Don't go leavin' me, Jack."

Jack nodded. "I won't, kid. Promise."

The next day, Crutchie's fever abated.


	4. Christmas

"Christmas? What do we do for Christmas, Jack?"

Crutchie limped around the room following Jack back and forth as the older boy lifted up boxes, opening them and grabbed small ornaments out of them. He took a small burnished hook from the table, looping it onto the round glass ball. Jack then hung it on one of the evergreen branches.

"Well," he began, "For Christmas we all decorate a tree. And then we give out presents, and put those under the tree."

"Why?"

"Because…because it's fun, and it makes everyone happy."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone in the Lodgin' House, at least. An' everyone else who celebrates Christmas."

Jack stood on his toes, straining to reach the uppermost branches. "An' since this is your firs' Christmas, we have to make it special."

"Jus' for me?"

"Course."

More boys walked in, carrying newspaper chains that they hung up around the room. Crutchie begged to help, even trying to climb on a ladder to lift up a part of the chain, but Jack quickly set him back on the floor again. Crutchie had never seen so many decorations before, or a tree like that. Race and Specs brought in the packages, and they sat down at the table to start writing labels. Crutchie peered over their shoulders as they wrote everyone's names on small pieces of newspaper. He finally sat down after milling about, watching everyone go about their work. Kloppman even walked in with a few boxes and helped decorate. Presents were stashed under the tree as Henry, Specs and Mush shook them to maybe hear what was inside. Romeo lit the fireplace and hurriedly jumped away as flames licked the air. Snippets of carols hung in the air as the boys tried to remember what they had heard last year. Scrumptious smells drifted through the hustle and bustle, with turkey, gravy and a whole pie. The nuns had been good to them this year. The scraping of chairs on the scuffed wooden floor ensued, and Jack propped the crutch up against the wall where it would be safe. Crutchie's eyes widened at the meager arrangement of food, and a smile perched itself on his face for the rest of the evening. Kloppman fixed all the boys with a slight disapproving glare as they started picking up their forks and knives and food to start digging in. Utensils clattered back onto their respective plates, and everyone clasped their grubby hands together in impatient prayer. Kloppman's feeble, reedy voice rose into the rafters where it was joined by all the other newsies.

"And God bless us…"

"Everyone!" Crutchie finished amid laughter. A while later, feet clambered out of their chairs and pattered over to the other room, sitting down around the Christmas tree. Wind howled outside their safe haven, with snow pelting down against the glass window panes. But the newsies hardly paid attention to that. Presents were passed around, happy shouts appearing as they opened their new surprises. Crutchie grinned as he took newspaper out of his box, revealing a pair of new shoes, from Jack, some clothing from Kloppman and new socks from Race that he had hurriedly tried to clean that morning. The other newsies craned their heads around as Crutchie reached his hand into the box, pulling out the last item.

He frowned. It was a bow.

"I'm not a girl," he said, looking up at all the newsies crowded around him.

"It's for your crutch," Finch said, and most everyone stifled their laughter.

"My crutch? You want me to put it on my crutch?" Crutchie frowned, looking up at everyone around him.

"Or we could take turns wearin' it," Jack suggested. Crutchie smiled mischeviously, and stood up. "Good idea, Jack! You first." He limped over with the bow, and set it on Jack's head. Jack scowled and muttered something about it only being a joke as Crutchie stepped back to admire his handiwork.

"You next, Race!" Jack grinned, snatching the bow and rushing after Race who quickly ran upstairs. "No fair! It was your idea, Specs!"

"But Christmas is for everyone, so everyone has to wear the bow!" Crutchie grinned, following Jack as he tried to catch Race. "Everyone!"


	5. A Knight for a Night

"My name is Racetrack Higgins! You killed my Crutchie! Prepare to die!"

"Arrgh, not before ye walk the plank, knight!"

A fearsome battle was waging throughout the Lodging House that night. Stormy seas tossed the HMS SANTA FE through tempest-tossed waters, and wild, foreboding clouds glared down from the dark sky. On deck, a scar-faced pirate captain holding an edged sword faced a dark-haired, floppy-hatted knight by the name of Racetrack Higgins. The pirate captain scowled, and brandished his sword.

"Prepare to meet ye doom!" He carefully stepped over the body of his little captive, one Crutchie Morris by name. Race brandished his own weapon, adopting a noble yet fierce glare.

"I think not, Captain Kelly!" The pair stared each other down, waiting for the other to make a move . Their fight was halted by Crutchie, who raised his head and looked at Jack.

"Can I be the knight now, Jack?" He asked, and Race fell to his knees, beside himself. "Oh Crutchie, I thought I'd lost you when Kelly killed you!"

"Wait a couple more minutes, kid," Jack told him, getting ready to attack Race with the crutch. "Go back to playin' dead."

"But I've been doin' that for the past 'our, Jack!" Crutchie protested. "Why do I always gotta be the kidnapped who dies?"

"Because you're six, an' we're all older than you," Race said. Crutchie glanced around the room, and then pointed to a newsie. "Romeo's five!"

Jack and Race sighed, lowering their weapons. "Alright," Jack said. "You can be the knight, Crutch. Who do ya want as your kidnapped?"

Crutchie grinned. "You!"

"What?! I'm the pirate captain!"

"Romeo will be the pirate captain, you can be the kidnapped, an' I'm gonna be the knight!" Crutchie was still grinning. Romeo bounded over, also smiling.

Jack sighed again, and helped Crutchie up. Romeo ran into the kitchen, grabbing two wooden spoons. He gave one to the now standing Crutchie, and scowled at him.

"Arrrrr!"

"No more will you do bad things, pirate Romeo!"

"Arrrr! I steal your gold an' your ladies, Sir Crutchie!"

"I don't got no ladies! Except Jack."

"Woah, wait a minute. What?!" Jack cut in. Romeo and Crutchie shushed him, much to the amusement of the other newsies. Romeo 'Arrr'ed' again, and the two boys started fighting each other. Romeo rushed over, and put his spoon to Jack's neck. "Arrrr! Say goodbye to yer lady, Sir Crutchie!" Jack grumbled something unhappily as Crutchie gasped. "No! I will save you, Jack!" Romeo laughed evilly, and drew the spoon across Jack's throat. Romeo and Crutchie stared at him until he let out an overly dramatic cry of pain and fell to the ground. "I'm dead!"

"Noooooooooo! You will pay fer that, Captain Romeo!" Crutchie cried, and limped forward to defeat the one who had killed his beloved Jack.

"Not before ye walk the plank, me hearty—"

"Ahem." Romeo and Crutchie looked up guiltily at the figure of Kloppman. "We was jus' playin' pirates an' knights, sir," Crutchie said.

Kloppman smiled faintly. "Put my spoons back, boys. And then you must all go to bed—-Kelly, is that my hat you're wearing?"

"Uh, no, sir," Jack quickly got up, hiding the hat behind his back.

Later that night, all the newsies were bundled up in their beds, trying to sleep. But Romeo and Crutchie were still going at it.

"You gold-lovin' pirate you!"

"You noble—yawn—knight!"

"I will beat you—yawn—someday, Captain Romeo!"

"Goodnight, Sir Crutchie."

"G'night, Romeo."


End file.
